


Gentleman Crow

by Eturni



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Antonia Crowley, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Established Relationship, F/F, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Zara Fell, gentleman jack au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eturni/pseuds/Eturni
Summary: Prompt for an established relationship Gentleman Jack AU for the ineffable wives.Zara Fell and Antonia Crowley have a chance meeting in York in 1832 and it does not take long for Miss Crowley to whip the Southerner into a rather whirlwind romance. Miss Crowley is more than happy to show her counterpart the pleasures she's been missing without the right partner to take care of her.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	Gentleman Crow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_girl_with_many_fandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_girl_with_many_fandoms/gifts).



> Completed for the OLHTS gift exchange.  
> Happy yule, merry candlenights and whatever comes in between.
> 
> This is my first ever smut and so has _actually_ been beta-ed. I'd ask for gentleness but honest feedback is more appreciated if I'm ever going to try this schtick again <3

The first time that Miss Zara Fell had occasion to meet Miss Antonia Crowley was in York on a late spring day just outside of the minster. More specifically it was actually just outside of the St Michael Le Belfry chapel.

It had been Miss Fell’s first chance to come up to York since the terrible business with the fire back in ‘29 and she had rushed to find just the right spot to catch the morning sun against her face. Zara sat in contemplative prayer for what felt like only a few moments. She took in the movement of fellow worshippers around her, the reverent tones, the brick and wood scent of the repairs and, of course, the beauty of the eastern rose window. The grace of god had saved it in the fire. The sun passing through cast the insides of the minster in fractured splashes of coloured light across faces and floors the same.

Just a few moments of quiet contemplation. The confused way her body reacted when she started to rise from her knees told her otherwise. She pursed her lips as she looked almost accusingly up at the window to realise that the sun had moved in the time that she’d been there. It had perhaps been more than an hour given the track of it and she had known instantly that Gabriel was just going to be in a complete tizzy about how long she’d taken.

So, of course, she had been rushing and, naturally, that was the moment she decided to come over light headed. She had barely been aware of the floor starting to rise up to meet her when a strong arm came out to catch at her waist, another carefully hovering behind in case more support was needed.

Zara had stumbled to get her feet under her, flushing at the thought of someone suddenly having to catch her weight. “Thank you sir, I’m ever so sorry, I don’t know what-” It was at this point in her tirade she’d realised that the fashionable waistcoat she’d pressed a hand against like a lifeline was underneath what was very much a woman’s spencer. And that her saviour was in a skirt. The fires of hell likely didn’t burn much hotter than her face had felt in that moment. “Oh, I mean, miss.” Zara’s fingers splayed without conscious thought, running over the bones of the corset she could feel underneath, marvelling at the trim waist that was such a counterpoint to the woman’s strength.

“I couldn’t stand idly by and allow a young woman to fall in the street. Do you perhaps need to sit down a while?” The woman had gently removed Zara’s hand from her stomach and brought it up to press a kiss against the backs of her knuckles, hand trapped between soft leather and softer lips.

“Please I wouldn’t want to impose I-”

Zara had looked up: the sun behind neat curls and a strikingly angular face at stark contrast to a very playful smile tugging at the edges of invitingly soft lips. The dark glasses that made the woman’s eyes impossible to see only added to the contrast and ambiguity. Zara felt her heart stutter in her chest. She felt something change in the air as the woman’s tongue flicked out to distractedly wet her lips. She felt her stomach rumble.

She’d flushed again in shame but Miss Crowley had only laughed; hearty and honest and so unlike the little bell tinkles ladies were supposed to sound like, and suggested that they go to tea.

\- - - - - 

This was how she had found herself summering in _Halifax_ of all places up at an estate in nearby Southowram. Walterclough Hall had not a decade back been the site of some terrible mismanagement by a cousin of the Walker family that owned it. Gabriel had been more than happy to send her off with enough funds to make it worth the Walkers’ whiles reinstating some semblance of standard to the estate in order for Zara to spend some time with her new ‘friend’. Her ‘friend’ whom she had been visiting without a chaperone on and off for several months now.

More than likely this was actually time for Gabriel to spend to find her a match where the man wouldn’t have chance to meet her beforehand and realise that she was both far too intelligent and far too interesting to make a good wife in London society.

The more time Zara spent away from her family the more comfortable she felt in her own mind and feelings. It would only make her less and less suitable as a pliant obedient wife.

But it was liberating and wonderful and even the very dubious pleasure of being up north couldn’t dim the heady rush of joy Zara felt the very second Miss Crowley was announced each day. She had taken to placing aside her book to receive Antonia the moment the bell rang, but at least remained sitting until Sandalphon announced her to not seem overly eager to the staff. The man was, after all, Gabriel’s servant more than anything and also a terribly judgemental busybody.

All of that could be forgotten the second Antonia came through the door, stride clipped and full of a surety that Zara could somehow never quite find in her own self. And yet just being in the woman’s proximity made her feel more of herself than she had ever been before.

Antonia’s smile is almost feral as she closes the parlour door behind her without a care for the servant behind it.

In two quick strides she’s in front of, almost _upon_ Zara, removing her hat along the way and depositing it carelessly on the strategically placed side table. On top of Zara’s book and right where sewing or cross stitch really _ought_ to be rather than a philosophical treatise.

“I trust I find you well?” Miss Crowley beams, the harsh lines of her face brightened by the warmth of it, even with her glasses shielding her eyes. She grasps both of Zara’s hands, pressing a firm kiss to each before looking pointedly at the window showing a clear view of the rolling hills outside.

Miss Fell feels a flush starting in her chest and creeping up her cheeks. She nods carefully, thoughts already wandering to stolen kisses and whispered affirmations. “Quite well, wonderfully so. I must admit I’ve been finding Miss de Gouges’ declaration extremely enlightening but I _do_ think it’s a little seditious, wouldn’t you say.” She worries at her lower lip with teeth, pulling back her hands and bustling across the room to close the blinds, heart pounding the entire time.

Finally, in blessed privacy and half-darkness, Miss Crowley pulls her in close and presses a gentle kiss, this time to her cheek. “Maybe, but it’s important to consider the raw deal we get always laying down for men. You’ve got the interest in philosophy anyway, I much prefer anatomy, angel.” The other grins as her lips moved lower, steadily down Zara’s neck in a way that has the woman’s pulse quickening; heat flushing low in her stomach.

“Yes, quite.” Zara agrees faintly. “All that business training under actual doctors for a time. I...” Zara finds herself thoroughly distracted from her train of thought as Miss Crowley’s mouth finds the pulse point at her neck and there’s a sudden, if thankfully relatively gentle, bite to the sensitive flesh there.

The sensation sends little lightning-like pleasure shocks across her skin and straight to the core of her. She’s barely aware of her legs becoming less steady underneath her, mind too focussed on sharp, possessive pleasure-pain of teeth on her flesh, until Miss Crowley is already guiding her backwards into the couch. Then further, until she’s half laid across it and the unforgiving angles and maddening warmth of Miss Crowley is pressed over her as an imperfect mirror.

For a moment Miss Fell reaches up slowly, aiming to pluck Antonia’s glasses away and gaze into those oft-hidden eyes; desperate to know if they’re as affected as Miss Fell’s whole body already feels. Her hands freeze, Miss Fell’s breath catching in her throat as slender fingers brush her ankle and then start moving higher. The movement of Antonia’s hands down under the folds and ruffles of her skirts is a new sensation. The heat in her belly is not. Not when it comes to her thoughts on the other brilliant, bright woman.

The teeth at her neck bite more insistently and Zara lets out a soft keening sound that is entirely unfitting for a lady, grabbing at Miss Crowley’s arms and squeezing. For a moment even she doesn’t know if it’s to hold her back or urge her hands further upwards. Quite suddenly there are feather light touches against thick, pale thighs and the brush of silk and cotton is more than Zara wishes to bear.

She can feel every brush of fabric against her too sensitive chest as her breath comes in shorter stucco intakes. The entire room feels all too warm and she feels overwhelmed while Antonia seems completely in control of her faculties and more than eager to press her advantage, fingers dancing higher up a sensitive thigh.

“Please.” The word falls unbidden from Miss Fell’s lips before she can stop it, heat and need growing at her neck and between her legs and through every inch of her skin both covered and already bared to the woman above her on the couch.

“Mmm, please what, angel?” Miss Crowley teases, the quirk of her smile clear against her neck as her free hand brushes back one of Zara’s stray curls with a tenderness that catches in Miss Fell’s throat and stokes the fire within her.

Zara’s breath quickens further and she squirms a little against the couch. “Please… I… Oh we shouldn’t my dear. Not here, not before nightfall. We must stop. If Sandalphon hears-”

“Sandalphon? He’s a good voice to beg bacon should anyone bother to listen.” Her lips twist in annoyance, fingers brushing lightly through carefully crafted curls before grabbing and pulling back; firmly but with only the slightest amount of pain. Zara cries out, feeling heat and shame rush through her in equal measure. “And I’m up to _his_ gossip at any rate. You’re the most pious sweet little thing Southowram’s ever seen, they certainly wouldn’t believe it of you. No, you just relax, angel, and let me show you what I learned of _anatomy._ ”

Miss Crowley’s words are like fire to dry paper but no more so than the hand searching ever higher along Zara’s thighs until it reaches the outer edges of Zara’s lips and discovers that they’re already slick with the beginnings of arousal, already so desperate for touch that she finds herself whimpering at the first brush of fingers.

“Oh angel, aren’t you just beautiful right here?” Antonia grins, pulling back to watch Zara’s half-lidded, glazed eyes as she lazily circles two fingers around the wet heat of her and finds her willing and pliant beneath.

The sound that Zara makes sends a shudder running clear through her and would find her in dreams for _months_ to come. Guttural and needy and with all the surprise of a woman unused to finding her own pleasure in life. “That’s right, just relax for me and let me take care of you.” Antonia whispers, words almost a hiss as she encourages her lover to let go and allow her to chase her pleasure for her; bedchamber or no.

Miss Fell wriggles, the faint protest almost dying in her throat as fingers brush along her wet lips and just a little further in and _oh yes_ but still… “I… In the drawing room my dear? I… we shouldn’t...”

It’s half-hearted, and Antonia knows it, lips pressing down now past jaw and neck and down the neckline of Zara’s dress. It had never felt too low until suddenly her bared chest is shivering against the open air and the attentions of Miss Crowley’s greedy kisses. Lips press fervently, almost devotionally (blasphemy though that may be) against her burning skin, the sensitive skin of the top of her breasts confined and held firm for the other’s attentions.

“In the drawing room, in the receiving room, on the stairs. In every room in this house, my love, if you would only allow me. I would bring you to rapture every time.” Miss Crowley swears gently, barely pulling back far enough to allow the words to be a brush of hot, too hot, air against Zara’s heaving chest. And the fingers, both too low and too high and certainly by now all too aware of the reaction Zara was having, the flush of her arousal undeniable as her eager body reacts to the teasing fingers at her entrance, coating them with her slick.

Miss Fell can only manage a low keen at the back of her throat in response to the suggestion. Then the fingers are moving up ever so slightly, the wet of them catching and circling around _something_ that sparks a shot of pleasure, leaving her insides twitching and clenching even as her hips buck up greedily into those fingers, desperate for more of whatever this is..

“You know I won’t do anything without your say so, angel. But you want this, don’t you?” The voice is teasing, self assured, and Zara hates and loves how _right_ she is. The fingers dance once more, a tight circle that floods Zara with heat and need and has her heart pounding so thunderously she may forget to breathe.

“I… Yes.” The words are a whine, a plea.

“Yes what?”

“Please, Antonia, _please_.” She all but begs, knowing that the other could give her everything she wanted. Knowing that she didn’t even know the half of what that might be and was eager and ready to offer herself up to anything the other would give.

“That’s my good angel.” The voice comes in a satisfied purr, Miss Crowley licking her lips in a slow, enticing stripe before taking Zara’s against her own. And just as suddenly fingers are _inside of_ her: exploring and inquisitive and intelligent, just like the woman pressed against and around her in both a comforting and a controlling press.

Miss Fell feels her breaths coming fast as she gasped for air, or for more. Either to make this sudden insistent _need_ less overwhelming to her hot, overwrought body.

Her desperate prayers find no answer as Miss Crowley’s fingers delve deeper. Her walls flutter against the two fingers stroking within her and parting her in her in a way that is not unfamiliar but is all the more intense for their vulnerable situation in a very much public area of the home.

Zara finds herself clutching at Miss Crowley’s shoulders and muttering senseless words and pleas as the heat in her grows stronger. A fever pitch of need and affection and the truth of being known as fingers continue their unyielding slide into the deepest core of her, searching out every place that makes Miss Fell’s whimpers pitch up to cries.

Seemingly unsatisfied by the litany of wordless pleading moans Antonia’s fingers slide from her body, leaving her momentarily bereft and empty until a third slides in with the other slick digits and Zara feels all the air leave her in a low moan of want. And then those fingers are curling and finding that place that makes Miss Fell’s breath come shorter still and more urgently.

“Oh, please, Antonia please.” The words are sharp and needy, a high pitched whine as the fingers brush against something inside of her that Zara has no hope of reaching on her own.

The warmth blooming in her tips over the edge as Miss Crowley growls against her ear, low and primal and demanding. “Come for me angel. Right here. You know you want to.”

And heavens, but she does want. And all of a sudden she _does_. Helpless against the flush of _aching need_ and Miss Crowley’s command of her body. Her lips and insides flutter and clutch desperately against the fingers inside her. No doubt Antonia can feel it, if her self satisfied smile is anything to go by.

“Wonderful, my dear.” Miss Crowley’s teasing lips are crooked upwards just so as she brings fingers to her lips to taste the evidence of Zara’s arousal against her tongue. At some point Miss Crowley’s glasses had sipped and her eyes are slightly glazed and full of a deep affection that makes the glow over Zara’s skin warmer still. The young woman shudders, need still bright within her even after the first orgasm. 

“Please, again...”

And who was Antonia Crowley to deny such an irresistible woman her wishes?


End file.
